Diary Two

by Ann M. Martin

  I have no idea what we ate, some kind of seafood, Brock ordered it for me. I was in a daze.

  Who cared about food, anyway? I didn’t even eat much of it, because we were talking so much and trying so hard to spot movie stars.

  We didn’t see any. But that didn’t matter either.

  After dinner we saw plenty of real stars. In Las Palmas County Park. We happened to run into Brock’s friend Pete, who was there with his girlfriend. And Brock seemed happy to see them, so we all hung out. Which meant Brock and I had to behave.

  Well, sort of.

  I can honestly say that before tonight, I have not been kissed.

  After Brock, everything else is just touching lips.

  And I am about to fall asleep with a big, big smile on my face.

  Saturday 3/21

  11:11 A.M.

  I am sitting on my bed in Dawn’s room.

  I have just awakened.

  My dirty clothes are heaped at the foot of my bed. Along with some of my books and tapes, my shoulder bag, my backpack, and the glass mug I took from the Sagebrush Grille last night.

  I don’t know how they got there.

  But Dawn’s part of the room is totally spotless. Except for one corner of her dresser, where my makeup is dumped into a pile.

  I will count to 100.

  And then I will find out what happened.

  2:43

  Palo City Beach

  Well. Dawn says I’m too messy. She says she tripped over my clothes and twisted her ankle this morning. So she dumped my stuff on my bed.

  I politely suggested she should tell me whenever she thinks I’m being messy, and I’ll do something about it. But I didn’t want her to throw my stuff around.

  Well, forget it. She put on her little hissy face, her I-want-you-to-know-I’m-angry-but-I’m-too-chicken-to-yell-at-you face.

  “What?” I said. “Didn’t I say that nicely enough?”

  “I must be misunderstanding something,” Dawn replied. “I didn’t realize I was the guest and you were the host.”

  I mean, please.

  Before I could answer, she turned away and started stomping off.

  I grabbed some shopping bags. I barged up into the room, gathered my stuff into the bags, and shoved them in a corner.

  “Better?” I asked.

  Dawn was sitting at her desk. “Yes,” she said.

  I smiled sweetly. Then I went out, slamming the door behind me. I grabbed a beach towel from home and took a bus straight here.

  Maybe I was being harsh.

  She asks for it, though.

  8:54 P.M.

  He can’t be my Dad.

  I do not have his genes.

  We are from two different planets.

  We must be.

  When he came home, he must have noticed my foul mood.

  Couldn’t he have asked what was the matter?

  He didn’t even say hello!

  Just, “Have you called your mother today?”

  So I said, “Fine, thanks, how are you?”

  Well, you’d think I’d stabbed him or something. He was furious. “How can you be so disrespectful? The worse your Mom gets, the worse you behave,” blah blah blah. Same old story.

  Then he yelled at me for not making dinner. I hadn’t even thought about dinner. I ate so much at the beach. And how would I know he hadn’t eaten at work?

  Then he picked up the phone and began tapping out numbers. “We’re calling your Mom.”

  “Now?” I said.

  “She’s still alive, Sunny. And you mean the world to her, even if you don’t care.”

  He. Said. That.

  I can barely write the words.

  He might as well have reached into me and ripped out my heart.

  And as I stood there in shock, he waited for Mom to pick up, wearing his best bookstore hello-can-I-help-you smile.

  I could hear his words. I could see his lips move. But I couldn’t believe what he was saying.

  “Hello, sweetheart … yes, Sunny and I were just about to sit down to dinner … fine, fine, it’s been a great day…. We’re all in great spirits…. Well, here’s your favorite ray of sunshine.”

  And there it was. The receiver. Right in my face.

  I took it and mumbled a hello.

  Mom sounded about 80 years old. I desperately wanted to scream—to tell her something on my mind. But I couldn’t.

  I can never tell her. Not in her state. So I just mumbled some small talk.

  Then Dad took the phone back and said, “Have to check the stove. ’Bye, honey.”

  As he hung up, his eyes were full of tears.

  He didn’t head for the stove at all. Instead, he ducked into his study, grabbed some papers, and went back out the front door. “I’ll grab a bite on the road. Be back late from the store, Sunny. Nuke a frozen dinner for yourself, okay?”

  9:08

  I hate him.

  That’s all there is to it.

  I hate the fact that he lies to Mom.

  I hate the way he treats me at the store.

  I hate the way he uses our house as a changing room.

  I hate feeling like a slave.

  I hate being ignored.

  As far as I’m concerned, I don’t have a Dad.

  This is it.

  I am out of here.

  For good.

  10:56

  I should be halfway to Nevada by now.

  I tried. I walked all the way to the bus stop before I realized I didn’t have my wallet.

  So I slipped into Dawn’s house to get it.

  Dawn was talking on the phone to Maggie. She barely nodded as I raced into our room.

  If I’d left through the front door, I would have made it.

  But I went through the back. And I ran into Carol. She was at the kitchen table, knitting something that looked like an ugly acrylic tube sock.

  She asked me what I thought of it.

  My mind was already outside. My feet were itching to go. I wanted to be miles away.

  I had to say something, though, so I asked her if she was making it for Dawn.

  Her face fell. “It’s a baby bootie.”

  “Are you giving birth to an orangutan?” I said.

  Carol practically fell off her chair laughing.

  It wasn’t that funny. And I regretted saying it. It was only prolonging the conversation. I did not mean to hang out and joke around.

  But it was kind of cool making Carol laugh.

  I like the way she laughs.

  I thought about how much I’d miss her when I ran away. And how much I’d miss being there for the birth.

  All the while I was staring at her face. It was so clear. Not pimple-free clear, but just pure happiness.

  And I thought: what a life. How did she get so happy? Was she always like this, even at age 13? Or was she like me?

  Then she put her feet up on the next seat. I almost choked when I saw them.

  They were enormous. Like elephant feet.

  “Lovely, huh?” she said. “I’m retaining fluid. The baby’s making me do it. They really hurt too. And Jack refuses to rub them.”

  “I will,” I said.

  Carol gave me a look. “You will?”

  I shrugged. “If you want. They’re clean, aren’t they?”

  “Last time I checked.”

  I pulled over my chair, took her right foot, and began massaging it. The way Mom used to massage mine—and I hers, back when she first got sick.

  Back before the rubbing began to hurt her so much.

  Carol was sighing and oohing. It reminded me so much of Mom.

  Too much.

  I had to stop.

  Carol dropped her knitting on the table. She put her feet down and leaned close to me.

  “Are you okay?” she asked gently.

  A couple of tears started down my cheeks.

  I felt like such a fool. I hate crying and I hate people who cry too much.

  I w
as so freaked out, I didn’t know what to say. So I said, “I’m sorry” about ten times.

  Carol didn’t seem to mind. She just sat there, her arm around my shoulder. I could hear the rush of a car passing by. Dawn’s chattery voice on the phone. The drone of the TV show that Mr. Schafer and Jeff were watching.

  “Anytime you want to talk, just tell me,” Carol said softly.

  “You don’t want to hear,” I replied.

  “I do, Sunny. I care about you. I know this is a rough time. Please. I’m in no hurry.”

  I didn’t mean to unload. But my thoughts were all bottled up. All the feelings for Mom. All the hate for Dad.

  So I told her what had happened over the last few days. Right up to my big argument with Dad.

  I expected an adult answer. I figured she’d defend Dad, the way all adults defend each other.

  But the first thing she said was, “That’s not fair.”

  “He’s such a liar!” I blurted out. “How can he do that to Mom?”

  “No.” Carol shook her head. “That’s not the important question. He wants to soothe her, Sunny. I would do the same thing. It’s you he needs to think about.” she raised an eyebrow at me. “Don’t you ever tell your Dad I said that.”

  I told her I didn’t tell him anything anyway. I promised not to start.

  “I don’t quite know how to say this,” Carol went on. “What your Dad’s facing is a little like what Jack faced when he divorced Dawn’s mother.”

  “My Mom is not—”

  “I know. I know. But what I mean is, his reality is changing, Sunny. And so’s yours. It’s scary. You feel like your life is spinning out of control. Well, your Dad feels that too. You don’t know what ‘normal’ is anymore. He doesn’t either. It’s up to both of you to define it again. But it’s going to take a long time. And a lot of work.”

  “Normal? How can we ever be normal, Carol? When Mom’s in the hospital and Dad’s in the store, and I’m over here all the time, freeloading off you.”

  Carol smiled and gave me a big hug. “No, you’re not freeloading. We love having you. And don’t worry, sweetie. This won’t last forever. You’ll see. It’ll never be the same as it was, but it’ll be good again. Just give it time.”

  Dawn is so lucky.

  Carol is the coolest.

  I have been thinking of her words ever since we talked.

  I guess she’s right. I want her to be right.

  But I can’t imagine how she could be.

  I try hard to picture a normal life. With Dad. After you-know-what.

  But it’s impossible.

  Dad won’t have to work less. I’ll still never see him.

  He won’t clone himself either. The house will be empty every day when I come home.

  And when I am with him, then what? Will he change? Will he ever think about my feelings, or at least stop treating me like I’m a stranger?

  Normal.

  What does. That mean, anyway?

  Another wife for Dad? A stepmother?

  Great. I’ll have to see him holding hands with a strange woman around the house. I’ll have to make them meals.

  I hate her already.

  Well, unless she’s like Carol.

  Ha.

  Knowing Dad, she won’t even be close.

  Monday 3/23

  Science

  I cannot believe this.

  This is not happening to me.

  Pete asked me out.

  Pete, Brock’s friend.

  And I said yes.

  Math

  Who do I think I am?

  Soc. Stud.

  I’m insane.

  Study hall

  No, I’m not.

  I’m a free person.

  I am not married to Brock. How do I know he’s not seeing other girls?

  Besides, I got a good look at Pete today. Actually, a couple of good looks.

  He’s cuter than Brock.

  5:35 P.M.

  Dawn is shocked.

  Dawn thinks the world is coming to an end because I want to go out with Pete Nelson.

  Dawn thinks I should “talk this out” with Brock.

  Dawn also thinks I should have talked out Brock with Chris.

  Dawn really needs to grow up.

  But I can’t tell her that.

  Why?

  Because. Dawn. Is. My. Best. Friend.

  Tuesday 3/24

  2:45 P.M.

  Home early today.

  I could not face the last couple of periods.

  Not in my frame of mind.

  It’s all because of Ducky.

  He was a total wreck this morning. He came to school crying.

  He wouldn’t admit it, but he did. His eyes were all raw and watery.

  He definitely needed someone to talk to.

  He’s been there for me so often. The least I could do was return the favor.

  Well, I tried. But he kept changing the conversation—“How are you doing? Oh, I almost forgot to ask. Are you still mad at your Dad?”

  Ducky “You First” McCrae.

  I was not going to let him off easy. I had to find out what had happened. So I cut math and yanked him out of the cafeteria during 10th-grade lunch.

  I wanted to drag him to the Fiesta Grill. He’s allowed to go there during lunch. But he kept reminding me that 8th-graders are not allowed and I would get into trouble. Like I care.

  So we went outside and hid in the backseat of his car. Which smells terrible. And is cramped. And has gum in the carpet.

  (I am such a good friend.)

  Ducky’s problem?

  Alex.

  Alex the drip.

  Alex, who doesn’t deserve to look at Ducky.

  Here’s what happened: Ducky had gone to pick him up this morning, and Alex had yelled at him and told him to go away.

  Yes, that was it.

  I nearly smacked Ducky.

  “Don’t waste time with people who take advantage of you,” I told Ducky.

  I should know.

  “He’s a good guy,” Ducky insisted. “Just seriously depressed. He’s been cutting school. Disappearing without letting his Mom know where he is. Acting hostile to everyoneߞ”

  “Sounds like me,” I said.

  “Sometimes I worry about you too,” Ducky replied. “But I know you, Sunny. You’re there. With a heart and a soul. Alex is lost. You’re not.”

  “Oh, really?” I said.

  “I mean, you connect. Like now. Look, I know what you’re going through. I know it’s really hard. But you’ll come out the other end, Sunny. Because you’re not shutting down. You never will.” Ducky grinned. “I won’t let you.”

  Cool, or what?

  He just gives and gives and gives. And he never seems to want anything in return.

  I wish all my friends were like that.

  5:15 P.M.

  I did it.

  I figured out a way to give back to Ducky.

  A job.

  Dad needs a clerk. Someone old enough to work part-time, legally. Someone who is not me.

  Ducky needs the money. His parents are in Ghana, and his older brother is always borrowing cash from him and not paying it back.

  I mean, duh. Why hadn’t I thought of this before?

  I just called to tell him my idea.

  He loved it. He promised he’d apply.

  I’ll put in a good word for him.

  Actually, maybe I won’t.

  Knowing Dad, he’ll refuse to hire him for that reason alone.

  Wednesday 3/25

  8:25 A.M.

  “Does this young Ducky fellow have any references? Is he literate? Does he present a clean appearance?”

  What kind of stupid questions are those?

  Uh, no, Dad. He wears dreads, has a pierced tongue, can’t read, and likes to pick his nose in front of customers.

  I should never have talked to him.

  I should have run off when I had the chance.

 
And now look what I’m doing.

  Inflicting him on Ducky.

  Study hall

  I flunked yesterday’s math quiz.

  The reason: I didn’t take yesterday’s math quiz.

  Because I was out of class, and because I didn’t have a note, and because Ms. Whalen is a cruel and heartless excuse for a human being, I got an automatic F.

  She told me this while I was leaving class today. Then she gave me this look, like I was supposed to kiss her feet and say I’m sorry.

  Puh-leeze. I just shrugged.

  “Don’t you care?” she asked.

  I shrugged again.

  I love seeing the whale fume.

  She started yelling at me, but I left in the middle of it.

  Dawn was waiting for me in the hallway.

  “Why did you do that?” she asked.

  “Do what, flunk?” I said. “She didn’t even give me a chance.”

  “You cut the quiz, Sunny!”

  “I didn’t know there was a quiz.”

  “That’s not a good excuse!”

  “Okay, when I think of a better one, I’ll tell you.”

  Dawn threw her hands up and walked away. “See you later, Sunny.”

  That’s what she thinks.

  4:14 P.M.

  Am riding to the Vista Hills Mall. Carol’s driving.

  Don’t know where Dawn is.

  She’s probably with the whale as we speak. Talking about ways to make my life more painful.

  Which is why I walked home alone. And why Carol invited me—without Dawn—to keep her company while she shops.

  Nice to know someone cares.

  So I am going maternity shopping.

  And I’m happy about it.

  Me.

  Who’d have ever thought?

  4:34 P.M.

  Bob.

  Bill.

  Bruce.

  What’s his name?

  Blondish-brown hair. Curly. Square jaw. Great shoulders.

  I’ve seen him in school a million times out of the corner of my eye.

  I should have looked closer.

  Okay, he’s just past the dressing rooms. In the housewares section. Who’s he with? Probably some incredible-looking junior girlfriend.

  No.

  She’s old.

  His Mom!

  It must be.

  There’s hope.

  Can’t let him see me in maternity. That is definitely the wrong impression.

  I’ll stroll around. I’ll pretend I’m looking for a blender.